


déjà vu

by oiyiku



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, M/M, Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Secret Crush, Semi-slowburn, based after the SMP war while dream flips the fuck out over george’s cottagecore house, basically george reads heatwaves but cant stop thinking ab it, developing feelings, maybe or maybe not idk yet, not complaining but yknow, this is wha happens when u motherfuckers put heatwaves on my tl/fyp too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27874229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oiyiku/pseuds/oiyiku
Summary: It’s always tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, too soon.Even if it feels like it’s happened before.George has always messed with Dream this way, and vice versa. So why can’t those words leave his mind?And most importantly, why the hell did he read that story?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Eret & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 7
Kudos: 127





	déjà vu

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [tbhyourelame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tbhyourelame/pseuds/tbhyourelame). Log in to view. 



“With that, I’ll see you chat. I’m sending you all over to Wilbur if that’s alright. I’m surprised so many people came to watch. Thankful, but still surprised.”

“You almost, like, never stream, so of course it’s weird.”

“Coming from you?” 

Almost as if on cue, a ping sounded itself through George’s headset, signaling that he was no longer live.

“Is it off?” Dream muttered, distant taps from a keyboard being heard on his end. He clicks his tongue some, but lets out a satisfied ‘aha!’ once George’s Twitch had switched to Wilbur’s. He grinned to himself; the fellow Englishman’s smile was enough to know the raid was successful. “I’m proud of this progress on the SMP,” a voice cut through the sounds of Will’s stream. 

George leans a tad in his chair, grinning towards the screen where his reflection resided. “You literally just sat there and made fun of Tommy’s house the whole time. Give it a second and you’re already stealing all the attention.”

His friend’s voice could be heard not a second later with much attitude. “Are you angry at me for catering to the audience? Not my fault you guys wrote me in as a hot villain.”

George would huff and turn to his monitor. Leave it to Dream to be witty not even a minute after going offline.

It happened around nine that George decided to revisit his Twitch channel on a whim, prior to their first exchange. Minutes before he’d properly situated himself, though, Dream had called him to get an honest opinion on Patches’ new merch. It only made sense to invite him to the stream. 

(“You only keep me around for the views, admit it,” Dream had initially remarked as George was first booting up Minecraft.

“Admit what? That you’re practically a cash tree?”

“Oh, so it’s true?”

He decided to keep up the bold ruse. “Shut up and join the VC. You know I love you.”)

They’d goofed off for a while, hopping from call to call to pester whoever else was online. Tommy, Wilbur and Eret just so happened to be building some sort of greenhouse on the server, giving the two a perfect opportunity to strike up some sort of false confrontation over plants and such. It eventually ended with them having an intervention about Wilbur’s son being a furry and a small fight that got the chat roaring. While Dream and Tommy discussed architectural differences, George spoke to Eret about their ‘son’s’ wedding the upcoming Friday. Eret had promptly stated that he didn’t trust Dream, which also sparked controversy in the chat. Altogether, the group did get quite a bit down in terms of material.

He’d vaguely roll his eyes and face his focus to the camera, shutting it off. 

A few past donations would fly by on the current page- one from Dream that he’d screenshot with an irritated sigh. “You’re an absolute madlad, sending me that message on-stream. Of all things you could send, you chose that?”

“C’mon, it was funny. Remember that donations can be put in anyone’s name. Chat knows that. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” George sighed, feeling his tensed spine soften as he leaned back away from the screen. He’d navigate his phone for a few heartbeats. “Twitter hasn’t exploded.” He’d pause. “Yet.”

“You act like talking about a fan’s work is the end of the world.”

He’d let out yawn a few feet away from the mic. It probably didn’t pick up. “And you act like losing a few discs is the worst thing to happen to you.”

“Avoiding the subject, huh? Remind me again who lost the last manhunt?” Dream quipped, and George heard the smirk in those words.

“I’d say you lost a lot more than your dignity with that stupid fucking boat trick. You lost my _respect_ too.” The Brit would fake a saddened tone, dramatically furrowing his eyebrows despite the fact that his facecam was off.

George rang his friend on Facetime, eventually getting the response he’d expected; an outstretched middle finger and Dream’s breathy laugh to accompany it.

“So mature.”

The pair left their Discord call moments later, watching as the channels ran wild. Something was thrown out about how George was “totally a Ravenclaw” and it made him chuckle a bit, but another yawn cut it abrupt.

“Dude, you’ve been yawning for like.. What, a half hour?” His eyes were drawn to the analog clock across the dimly lit room. “Go to sleep already.”

He’d close his eyes and switch to the Facetime tab, not surprised to see a blank ceiling staring back at him. “Alright, alright. Don’t stay up too late editing.”

“No promises.”

With that, their call had ended. 

George had settled into a comfortable semi-silence, hearing nothing but swaying trees and the faint hum of his PC. Silvery-blue light traced its way across his setup but soon dissipated into darkness once he’d shut it down and headed to bed.

After-stream clarity hit him like a foam brick. Instead of letting thoughts and ideas consume him, he’d hit his sheets and been enveloped in a warm state of nothingness.

He dreamt of timezones and of caravans with foggy windows, drifting with no intent as dreams usually do. When his mind warped into something more saturated, George recognized in full that he was asleep, and it had him feeling somehow even more exhausted. 

It’d processed a couple seconds later where exactly he was. He’s been perched beside someone- he wasn’t sure who, but didn’t quite care. They were staring out at a hazy cityscape, that stranger’s presence feeling digital and muggy, almost like asthma personified. George had no clue what was happening; he only knew that it was peaceful.

“You know, I don’t get why people like grape flavoring in the first place. This shit tastes like.. well, shit, to be frank.”

George didn’t even mean to, but he’d tilt his vision to see Dream, swan-necked and lightly freckled, taking shape beside him. Of course, his face was directed elsewhere, but he could see the implications of a jawline and a nose. Otherwise, the man’s face was hidden. 

Giddiness swallowed his nerves as he responded. “Did you just say ‘to be frank’? You’re so cheesy.”

“Hm.” Dream’s voice turned somber. His technicolor surroundings held more depth, almost like a street lamp being switched on after dusk. “I think you make me act that way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” George grabbed a stick of gum from Dream’s outstretched hand and took note of how.. _small_ his hand was in comparison. An odd observation to be had, but he chased it out of his mind as soon as it came. 

“It’s just.. I’m not sure.” George heard the hesitance in his friend’s voice, feeling an overwhelming amount of awareness in his body. He’d pop the gum into his mouth, feeling nostalgic for something he couldn’t quite remember. “I don’t know how to put it.”

George hummed and set his hand the small of Dream’s back, wanting to be able to feel some sort of tangible evidence that this was happening; that they were there, wherever there was. He didn’t know. God, why did he do that? Why is he still holding him? Dream flinched in his hold, but stilled. “That’s alright. You don’t have to make sense right now.” 

His voice took up all of George’s senses. “You’re just.. you’re like sleep paralysis on my mind and I don't want to wake up. Does that make sense? That I would be in a coma for you?” 

George watched as the silhouette of his friend’s eyelashes twitched with indecisiveness. His hand drew itself a bit higher to Dream’s shoulder as a confirmation. “No, I get it. Don’t worry.” He shrugged off a rising feeling of heat. It felt oddly familiar, yet again not knowing why. “You’re something that I want to hold but can’t, yet you try to hold me anyways. In your mind, I guess. It’s never enough to just hear your voice is what I’m trying to say.”

Was it what he was trying to say? He felt drunk off of whatever was in the thick air, that bittersweet atmosphere tinged with citrus and something simmering below it. 

Dream sighed into the touch. “I wish we both acknowledged this in the real world. We have no idea how deprived we are.”

He identified the reasoning behind those words in an instant. “Is that why you sent that donation? You just wanted to see my reaction for yourself? That’s a bit selfish,” he chuckled, but Dream’s face sat still. A second passed by and George’s mouth hung open before he let words tumble out. “You don’t exactly burn me.” For once in the span of this weird fever dream, George felt genuine curiosity bubble up.

“We both know it means more than that.”

“Why?”

Dream turned to face him, a blurry red sun setting behind him and casting a shadow across George’s vision. He could barely make out the movements of his face when he began speaking. “Well, you said I don’t burn you.”

“So?”

Dream paused. Lowered his voice. “What _do_ I do to you?”

If something had been simmering before, it was seething now, pouring over and sending George over the top, like a thermometer past its limit. 

George swallowed. There was only one response to a question like that, one which fell between his teeth and tongue and hung in the air.

“You melt me.”

Not a moment later, George stirred awake, feeling a cold sweat drape itself over him. His legs pressed tightly together, hands grabbing for the sheets to curl back up and try to hold onto the grains left of his unconscious state of being. Any hope of going back was washed away by sunlight beaming through the opposing window. 

What was that.

That was nothing he’d thought of before. He was sure the false memory of speaking to his friend in such a sensual manner would leave a bad taste in his mouth for a while.

So why the fuck was he so out of breath?

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i’m oiyiku but i’m also known as bunny elsewhere :D if you found this, it probably means you know me from tiktok, discord, or are just looking for some kind of heatwaves-fever antidote. the good news is that i plan to update this frequently! let me know if anything is wrong!  
> (for good measure, if the author of heatwaves is not alright with me writing this- or any of the CCs- i can and will delete it :D any of the initial principles tbhyourelame applies to their story also apply to mine!)


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